40K Journal
by InnocentBlaze686
Summary: A young man wakes up in the middle of the 40K universe. With life on one hand and death on the other, he joins up with an Imperial Guard squad to survive. What follows is his experience in the grim darkness of the far future.
1. Major Entry 1

Journal Entry #0001A

Waking up to the smell of ash, smoke, and fire was not on the agenda for that morning, to be quite honest. But that's how this all started, I suppose. TO be frank, none of this was on the non-existent life calendar I have, and, yet…here I am. And, since I have this nifty little journal now, I can start writing down everything that I've gotten into since that morning. So, let's begin, shall we?

For some reason, waking up felt very, very warm today, which was odd because it was winter. I blinked sleep out of my eyes as I awoke, yawning and stretching as I stared at the sky. That was my first clue that something was very, very wrong; I fell asleep in a dorm room, not under an open sky that was filling with black smoke. I blinked rapidly.

"Aight, what the hell?" I said aloud, groggy and confused. I have the tendency to talk to myself and the world when no one is around, which can be very odd when observed by any passersby. But nonetheless, I spoke to the unfamiliar world I woke up in, which was not the small Ohio town I went to college in. Instead, it looked like I awoke in some massive cathedral city, with numerous Notre Dame looking arches and designs. And it was on fire, with tracer rounds crisscrossing the dark sky, screams, and all manner of things that I should not be waking up to. A horrible thought came to mind as I surveyed the scene, it reminded me of something out of a sci-fi thing I had seen. "No way….no way I woke up in that." I reassured myself as I got to my feet. There was no way I was in _THAT_ universe. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was _THAT_ universe. But I still moved, away from the odd debris pile I had awoken on into the streets that were strewn with rubble, litter, and corpses…not the most pleasant sight for waking eyes. I stepped slowly and cautiously into the street, scanning the Gothic buildings as I went. Among them were the corpses of soldiers, most likely the city guard or the police, arms and armor lying next to them. I was tempted to pick one up when an artillery round or a bomb went off behind him. Yelping, I sprinted away from the blast and down the street, diving into a somewhat intact house. And straight into the muzzle of five guns, all pointed at the door which I exploded through.

"Hold, xenos scum!" A female voice, probably around my age, cried.

"Easy there, lass, 'e's human." An older voice cautioned, and the five rifles lowered. Before me stood four men and one girl, all in military uniform with rifles and pistols. On their body armor and rifles was emblazoned an eagle, much like the Roman Aquila but also very, very similar to-

" _NO, I'm not in THAT universe; there's no way!"_ I thought to myself as the leader of the five spoke to me.

"You alright lad, any injuries?" He asked. The man looked hard, tough, grizzled from war, but even through that there was an odd twinkle in his eyes.

"Uhh, I think I'm fine. Truth be told I woke up on a rubble pile a moment ago and I have no idea what's happening." I admitted.

"It'd be better if you didn't." Another man said, younger than the leader, almost as hardened, but with a note of bitterness in his voice.

"Aye, he'd be lucky if he hadn't woken up at all." The third spoke, with what seemed to be a Scottish accent. The girl and the fourth man turned away and went to windows, looking out and keeping watch.

"Well, he's awake now, and he'll have to live with it," The leader said, taking his rifle in one hand and extending the other to me, "Sergeant Mikal Aurelian, 13th Freeport Imperial Guard Regiment, 2nd Company."

"Ald…Ald Russman." I answered, giving one of names for a character I had invented instead of my real one. Why, I have no idea. "So, what is going on?"

"An Ork _WAAAGH_ has descended upon this world, and its our job to evacuate the civilians before the Astartes arrive." Mikal explained.

"Do ya really thing the Space Marines can beat these green-skinned-bastards back?" The third man asked, going to the door and peering out.

" _Orks, WAAAGH, Astartes, Space Marines, greenskins…oh no. No no no….no no no no no no!"_ As those terms all clicked in my mind, a phrase came to mind: In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war. I was now in _THAT_ universe: 40K, Warhammer 40 fucking K.

Journal Entry #0001B

So, if you're from the Warhammer 40K universe, you're probably wondering what the fresh hell I'm talking about. Here's the short of it: Your universe is not real in mine. It is a collection of games, digital and tabletop, books, and artwork. There is no Imperium in mine, only Earth, aka Holy Terra to you. If you're from my universe, you're probably wondering how the heck I go there. To be honest, I DON'T KNOW! All I know, is that I occasionally get jerked into universes like 40K, for example the universe of Bungie's game series, Destiny. That made up name? That was my name in that particular adventure. Most time I wasn't aware of what was going on, but not this time. I wish to Holy Terra I wasn't. But anyways, back to the beginning.

An hour after I met the team of Imperial Guardsmen, I was running and hiding in the streets of Freeport with them, laspistol in hand. The sergeant, Mikal Aurelian, explained that we were headed for the 13th Regiment's headquarters, where I could be shoved into a transport and sent someplace else in the Imperium. He also introduced me to his squad; the girl was Julia Akron, a private in the Guard, the second man was Galahad, the Scottish sounding one was Willy, and the fourth man was "Chatterbox", so named because he was mute. In the Imperial Guard…I didn't want to know how that worked. And it was still weird to think I was in the bloody Imperium of Man, the same one that was at war with everything and everyone and was still alive, and fighting somewhat well. And for some reason, at that moment, I wondered if Avoiding Stupid Deaths in the 41st Millennium was real here. That was a Warhammer 40K fanfic by a guy named erttheking where the author basically outlined the stupid deaths of Imperial Guardsmen that he had seen/heard of. Here's to hoping I don't end up in the book, but knowing me I'd probably be in the vicinity of one of them.

An explosion overhead shook me from my thoughts, forcing our pace to quicken. While we hadn't seen any Orks, we had heard them plenty; listening to them bicker over loot and who had killed the most. A couple of times we heard screams, cut off by the sharp bark of an Ork gun, followed by laughter from a Nob.

"Well, this certainly as grimdark as Games Workshop made it out to be." I thought as we ran, scrambling over debris and ducking through ruins. After a solid hour of dashing about, we were all tired, and Mikal noticed. As we entered a ruined house, he held up a hand.

"Break, ten minutes." He said. We all found somewhere to sit and plopped down into our spots. I rested my back against a cabinet, panting, feeling the sweat roll down my body. I hadn't even been here half a day and I was already on the run, with a band of strangers, away from green-skinned monsters who just want to fight and kill. What the fresh hell?

"Holding up alright?" Willy asked as he offered me a water canteen. I took it gratefully, not taking too much of the precious liquid.

"As best I can." I breathed, handing the canteen back.

"Aye; waking up in this mess, I'd have shot myself in five minutes." Willy said. "Though Julie over there nearly did it for ya!" Julia shot a hot glance at Willy before turning away. "Don't mind her; she's fresh from training and believes every word of the Uplifting Primer."

"The Uplifting Primer is not to be mocked!" Julia snapped. I promptly shut my mouth and let the two bicker. I leaned back on the cabinet and panicked as it began to fall over. Thankfully, it fell only a little way; falling into the wall a foot behind it, rattling the contents. One such content opened the door a small bit, revealing a gun barrel. Sergeant Mikal looked over at the noise and strode over.

"What do we have here, lad?" He asked, taking the barrel and pulling it gently from the cabinet. It was a gun, obviously, but I was more surprised by the fact that it looked like a blockier version of the US M-4 rifle from my time/universe. "Ah, an autogun, a Marius 400 model." I held back a laugh; the universe, mine or otherwise, liked to repeat itself in strange ways. "Not much use to us," he eyed me, "but…do you know how to shoot a rifle." I nodded. "Well, I see no reason why you can't prove yourself."

"Is that wise, sergeant?" Julia asked. "He is untested, and seemingly came from nowhere."

"Are you suggesting, private, that this young man is born of the Warp?" Sergeant Mikal asked, with heavy emphasis on Julia's rank.

"I am only suggesting caution, sergeant, nothing more." Julia said. I couldn't tell if she didn't like just based on suspicion, principle, or because she was just a bitch. Maybe a combo of all of the above.

"I admire your logic, Private Akron, but I have seen and felt the Warp, Chaos and what it was wrought. This young man is not of the Great Enemy." Mikal said, handing me the M-400. It was essentially the same as the M-4, as I said, just blockier. The charging handle was in the same annoying place, at the rear, the forward assist was still there, but it was slightly heavier. Mikal rummaged in the cabinet and drew out a bandolier with six magazines of ammo, handing them to me. "Now, lad, do you-" He stopped as he watched me load the rifle. It was memory, really: pull the magazine from the pouch, slide it into the mag well, pull back the charging handle, let it slam forward, check the firing chamber, make sure it's on safe. The men were impressed, Julia glared daggers at me.

"Hm, impressive." Galahad said, nodding approvingly.

"We'll make a Guardsmen of you yet, boy." Willy said, standing and stretching.

"Let's hope he is not tested too harshly." Mikal said. "On your feet, we move!" A moment later and we were out again, dashing through the rubble and ruin of Freeport. Ten minutes into our run, and a voice called out to us.

"Oh huuuuuummies!" A deep, gruff voice…sang to us? Behind us, ten Ork Boyz dropped from a rooftop, all wielding some form of choppa. "Where'z ya goin'? Don'tcha wanna hav' sum fun?"

"Run!" Mikal barked, and we all went from a jog to a sprint. The Orks let loose a hearty laugh and gave chase, raising their choppas and roaring with joy. It was as if they were on a fox hunt, and the prey was within their grasp. However, humans put to flight against a superior foe are not only fast, but clever. Chatterbox ran at the rear of the group, not quite giving his full speed. As I wondered why he was not sprinting his ass off, he pulled the pin on a frag grenade and slipped it behind some rubble. Two Orks ran past the rubble pile as the grenade exploded, shredding them to bits. Eight to six, the odds were turning. Galahad was bolder, dashing up into a ruin before raining fire down on the advancing Orks. Seven to six. But then six more Ork Boyz joined the chase, forcing us to abandon any hope of fighting. We were all tired at this point, and afraid of the Orks, fearful of their greater numbers. And then we turned a corner, into a dead end. It was a small courtyard of an office space with rubble piled high all around. The only way out was back the way we had come or to blow through the rubble. And we did not have the firepower to do either. "Set up, quickly! You, Ald, stay with me!" The sergeant ordered. I hastily followed, like a lost lamb to the shepherd. The other four Guardsmen settled into defensive positions, reading themselves for what we believed to be their last fight. "I'm sorry lad."

"For what?" I asked.

"You woke up in the most Emperor-forsaken conditions possible, and I may as well have led you to your death." Mikal said, lining up the sights on his lasgun on the courtyard gate. I did as well, clicking the M-400 from safe to auto. And then they came, the Orks charging with choppas raised, screaming and roaring. Laser and bullet filed the air as the greenskins charged through the gate, keen on taking our heads. They fell as the ran through, soaking up our ammo as we fired. The rate of fire on the M-400 was faster than that of the lasguns, allowing me to reload and continue firing while the others reloaded. But it wouldn't be enough, as the Guardsmen fell back into a half circle near the back wall of the courtyard, the Orks continued through, having brought more of their friends. In my universe, I am a firm believer that there is a God who created Earth and all there is to it, and I know full well that the Emperor of Man was a man of logic and reason rather than religion. (Spoiler alert for the 40K universe). But still in my mind, I prayed.

"Emperor, help us." I said in my mind. And then I heard the sound.

"RAHHHHHHHH!" Came a roar. A shadow passed over us, the Orks halted before the shadow's owner, my jaw hit the floor, drilled through it, and went straight to Freeport's core. For landing before me, in green power armor, holding a Bolt Pistol and a Chainsword, was an Adeptus Astartes, an Avenging Angel of the Emperor. A Space Marine. "DIE GREENSKINS!" He bellowed as he leveled his pistol and emptied the magazine into the gang of Orks before him. One came from the side, choppa raised, but the Chainsword was cutting through it as the Astartes dropped the pistol and went about his bloody business.

"Guardsmen, for the Emperor!" Sergeant Mikal cried, raising his lasgun and firing into the Orks. I raised my M-400 and fired as well, joining the Guardsmen as we, mainly the Space Marine, forced the Orks back. When the courtyard was cleared, not a single Ork remained, leaving the humans and the Space Marine.

"Well fought, Guardsmen." The Space Marine said, retrieving his Bolt Pistol and turning to us. I got a look at him and realized, from my albeit limited experience with Astartes chapters, that this was a Salamander. I breathed a sigh of relief; green power armor could mean them or the Dark Angels…and I hadn't heard great things about them.

"Thank you, milord." Sergeant Mikal said gratefully as the Space Marine leveled his gaze…at me. Why?

"You are no Guardsmen," he noted, approaching me, "are you a member of the local PDF?"

"Uhh, no, my lord…truth be told I woke up on a debris pile only a couple of hours ago, with no idea how I got here." I admitted.

"Truly? You are bold, young one. What is your name?"

"Ald Russman, my lord."

"Well then, Ald Russman, the Emperor may have use for you in the Imperial Guard." The Space Marine said. "I am Battle Brother Alexios of the Salamanders, 4th Company, we are here to aid you, Guardsmen."

"Sergeant Mikal Aurelian, 13th Freeport Imperial Guard Regiment, 2nd Company, milord. We thank you for your timely rescue." Mikal introduced. The Space Marine turned his head.

"You may not thank me for this news, Guardsman; your regiment has been wiped out by the Greenskins." Alexios said grimly. I felt a pang of sympathy for the five Guardsmen, who all had varying degrees of shock, anger, and sadness on their faces. "You have my deepest sympathy."

"Thank you, milord, but it will do us no good if we cannot evacuate." Mikal said, resolve in his voice.

"Agreed! Take heart Guardsmen, for you fight with the Salamanders today!" Alexios encouraged, sheathing his pistol and sword and drawing a Bolter. "Come, Guardsmen, there are Orks to kill!"

Meeting Alexios was one of the defining moments of my first decade in the 40K universe. Yeah, I spent a long-ass time in the 40K universe. I'm honestly surprised I'm not in therapy for all the different lives I've lived in. Sybil ain't got shit on me with her personalities, I've lived DECADES in universes THAT ARE FICTICIOUS! What the hell is my life at this point? Anyways, the squad and I were able to get off world pretty quickly thanks to the arrival of the Salamanders. During that time, Mikal was able to pull some shenanigans to make me apart his regiment and company before the Administratum wrote off the 13th as combat-ineffective, keeping me with them and putting me through informal training in the Imperial Guard. Within a year, they deemed me fit to fight as a Guardsman, wherever the Imperium of Man needed us. Which was, blessedly, nowhere at the moment. The Administratum had trillions of other things to do so, rather than worrying about us, they stuck us on a world and left us there.

Said world was a place, aptly named Earned Respite. This world was in the realm of Ultramar, the home of the Ultramarines, and as such was relatively safe from the threats that plagued the Imperium. It had been set up by some noble ages ago as a R&R world for the Imperial Guard, specifically survivors such as my squad from shattered regiments; a place to rest, refit, and await new orders in relative peace. And this, this is where the real adventure began for me.

Entry #0001C

It had been a year since we'd arrived on Earned Respite; six months of those I'd been drilled, trained, and instructed in the ways of an Imperial Guardsman, and the other six months, utterly nothing. It was alright though, I spent the majority of that time reading my eyes off, learning as much as I could about the state of the galaxy. And it looked about normal; death and destruction on most fronts, xenos or heretics everywhere, minor rebellions almost everywhere else. The rest of that time I was drilling myself, doing my best to prepare myself for whatever I was going to fight. Julia was with me, drilling her ass off with me to prepare. While she still didn't fully trust me, mainly because of her suspicious of the Warp, she was willing to work with me. We were always under someone's watch, sometimes it was the wise-cracking Willy, the silent Chatterbox, the stern Galahad, or the firm yet patient Sergeant Mikal. Each had their own tips and tricks of the trade, but they all contributed to our development. And the Uplifting Primer…yeah, that's a bloody joke right there. Emperor save the Imperium if anyone actually believes that crap…damn it. Speaking of books, I had actually found Avoiding Stupid Deaths in the 41st Millennium! And holy crap did I see a few stupid things on Earned Respite, let me tell you. Anyways, to the main story.

Towards the end of the year I spent on Earned Respite, we were getting the itching to go. We had spent out time there, and it was time for us to do our jobs. And unbeknownst to us, we were about to get the opportunity to do that in an albeit different capacity. And, like all good stories, it started in a bar….

"No, no Ald, _I_ was the one who saved yer arse, not the other way around!" Willy exclaimed, trying to get me to tell a different version of a story. The assembled Guardsmen, all from various fragmented regiments of the Imperium, grinned and laughed at him. They all knew that he was attempting to save his own skin from embarrassment.

"Willy, you were too drunk off _your_ ass to be of much use in that fight." I retorted. "In fact, I think Julie had more to do with it than you did!" The other guardsmen bellowed with laughter as Willy sputtered trying to explain what his version was as I walked off, having done the all the damage I needed to do. I walked out of the bar, the _Broken Lasgun_ , into the night air of Earned Respite. It was quite, peaceful, the silence of the night only disturbed by the various bars, brothels, and other industries that kept the Guardsmen of the Imperium in check. Life on the planet was good…but I wanted action now. I was trained and I was drilled to fight, and while I may be stuck in the most grimdark universe ever, but God-damnit I wanted to do something!

As I stared up at the night sky, wondering when I would see action, I heard hushed voices nearby. Ever curious, I snuck over to where I thought I heard the voices, and found a small dead end alleyway. The light, thankfully, did not fall over the entrance to the alley, so I craned my neck around the corner to listen.

"So…we doin' it?" A hushed voice asked. "Tonight?"

"Da, we do it tonight." Another voice, thickly accented, almost Russian or Slavic, said.

"And we do it quick! I've got the shield, so not lasgun will hurt us, but I don't want to use it!" Another, higher, more excited voice said. "It'll have room for all three of us!"

"Good. We'll rob that blue-blood rouge trader bitch blind." The Slav said. That was all I needed to hear. I crept back to the shrubs near the bar and retrieved "The Old Man", aka my M-400 that I managed to get off Freeport. Unfortunately, the rounds it took were from Freeport itself, the "Freeport Special"; .45 AP rounds. Now thankfully, Earned Respite had both the materials and tools to machine said rounds, allowing me to build a stockpile of the stuff to take off-world. Not only that, but we were allowed to carry owned weapons on planet. I could walk around with it, unloaded of course, and slung on my back. I did that now, my bandolier on my back, and I watched as the trio came out of the alleyway. I turned to the bar, examining it as if I planned to go inside and try out the area. The three thieves took no notice as they went off, walking quickly, looking around nervously for followers. I let them get a hundred meters away before following, walking briskly after them. As I walked after them, a duo of PDF soldiers I knew walked into my path. The PDF, and Earned Respite as a whole, looked like something out of Victorian England, and the culture almost mimicked it, if not for the influence of the Imperium.

"'Ello, Ald!" They said cheerfully. They were Tegan and Jory, best friends from birth, battle brothers, and the friendliest people you ever met. I put a hand to my lips to quiet them. "What's going on?"

"Those three are gonna go rob someone, you wanna come stop them?" I asked. They looked at each other and shrugged.

"Why not, it's out last act in the PDF." Tegan said, a blonde with blue eyes and along face.

"What?" I asked.

"We just passed the tests to join the Imperial Guard." Jory said excitedly.

"Congratulations! Now let's end that career with a bang, shall we?" I asked. I wasn't thinking about the possible consequences, I just wanted action. And this was the perfect opportunity. The two followed behind me, lasguns at the ready, eager to have a little fun. We followed the thieves for a time before coming to the cargo area. As Guardsmen and PDF, we could pass freely, and, with the PDF by my side, I could walk in with the M-400. The three thieves ahead had nothing in terms of armament, and yet by the time we arrived at the warehouse, they had HELLGUNS. HELLGUNS! WHERE THE FRESH HELL DID THEY GET THOSE. I almost said that aloud in sheer irritation. I turned to the friends. "Go get back up." I whispered to them. They grinned and disappeared as best they could with their red uniforms. I turned back to the warehouse and watched as they punched in the code to the warehouse. Meaning this Rouge Trader had some traitors in her crew. As I sat and watched, I suddenly realized that when Sergeant Mikal heard I did this without getting him, I'd be dead even if I survived three Hellguns. A half hour passed, and the two returned with a full squad of red-uniformed PDF. The sergeant grinned at me.

"Couldn't wait to get off world for some fun, Guardsmen?" He asked.

"I guess not; they've got three Hellguns and a shield to keep out Lasguns." I told them.

"Buggah, we'll have to sneak up on them." The sergeant said. I waved the M-400.

"I've got bullets…bullets will go through that shield." I said. The PDF grinned.

"'Ow about we make them pop the shield, and you shoot 'em?" Jory suggested. I looked at the sergeant, who nodded. He motioned for his men to follow, fanning them out around the warehouse entrance.

"This is the PDF, you are in violation of Lady Mira Cicero's property, come out with your weapons above your heads." The sergeant bellowed.

"We are part of Lady Cicero's crew, no need to go antsy! We're just...taking inventory." The Slavic answered.

"Bullshit; this was inventoried a week ago and no requests have been made for additional inventory." The sergeant replied. As he finished, the shield, a shimmering wall of transparent blue.

"Ha ha, sucks for you! Your lasguns can't get through here!" The third man said. The three came into view, Hellguns held low, and clustered together. Perfect for a spray. I strode out from behind the PDF, M-400 pointed at them.

"Lasguns, sure," I racked the slide, "but what about bullets?" The three thieves looked at each other in confusion as I pulled the trigger. I let the magazine empty as their bodies were riddled with holes and fell to the floor. "Huh, there's an entry: make sure your shield can block anything anyone can shoot at you."

"Oh, you've read that one?" The sergeant asked. "Aye, that'll get in there. I wonder if we could send this to him?"

"If we could find the planet he's on." I answered. As the PDF moved in through a side door, a woman wielding a lasgun with a _platoon_ of various Guardsmen stormed in.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The woman bellowed. Her presence was commanding, almost demanding respect from myself and the PDF. I was mildly scared of her right now.

"My apologies, my lady, I can explain-"

"You had better!" The lady cried. At this point, I surmised that this woman must've been Lady Mira Cicero, the "blue-blood rouge trader bitch" the three thieves had spoken off.

"Yes, my lady. This here Guardsman," the sergeant indicated me, "overheard three thieves, apparently apart of your crew, plotting to steal from you. He followed them, bringing a pair of PDF," he then indicated Tegan and Jory, "and arrived here. They acquired Hellguns from somewhere and began to loot your warehouse. Tegan and Jory here came, grabbed myself and my squad, and returned with us to apprehend the thieves. They somehow acquired a shield that could block our lasguns, but the Guardsman has an autogun that bypassed the shield, killing the thieves." The sergeant finished explaining. Lady Cicero looked at me, and I was really wishing she wasn't.

"You overheard this, Guardsman?" She asked me.

"Yes, milady." I answered.

"And what did they say?" She asked.

"Milady, they used some, choice language-"

"I spend a bloody day with Guardsmen, you may speak candidly." Lady Cicero interrupted.

"I believe the terms used were, 'we'll rob that blue-blood rouge trader bitch blind'." I explained. Lady Cicero laughed heartily at that statement.

"Thank you, Guardsman. What is your name and where are you from?" She asked, relaxing.

"Private Ald Russman, milady, I'm from the 13th Freeport Regiment." I answered, coming to attention.

"Relax, private, you are the hero in this situation." Cicero said. "Lady Mira Cicero, Rouge Trader of the Imperium." She waved off the assorted Guardsmen behind her, who sauntered off to wherever they had come from and slung her lasgun on her back. "You'll be remembered, Guardsman. Thank you."

"A pleasure to serve, milady." I said as she left. As soon as she was away, I exhaled heavily, and went back to the bar. This was a mistake because the moment I was within fifty feet of the place, Sergeant Mikal stepped from the darkness.

"So…running off to be a hero, eh?" He asked. He wasn't drunk; he only ever had two drinks a night, so he was just mad on principle. I didn't answer his question as he approached me. "What did I say about being a hero, lad?"

"Don't go trying to be a hero; you'll get killed more than likely." I repeated. I saw the punch coming, but I didn't bother dodging it. The man had pulled me from the rubble of Freeport and made me a Guardsman, he had a right to be pissed. I took the punch, swayed, but stayed on my feet.

"And yet you went and made yourself a hero to a bloody Rouge fucking Trader." Mikal growled. "Do you children ever listen?" Again, I remained silent, letting him rant. A solid five minutes of ranting and raging went on before he asked, "And what fucking blue blood did you save?"

"Lady Mira Cicero, sergeant." I replied. And I watched as he promptly stopped, turned to look at me, and widen his eyes.

" _The_ Lady Mira Cicero?"

"I suppose, sergeant, I haven't heard of her." I answered.

"Lady Mira Cicero is an angel to Guardsmen; she's saved numerous regiments from certain death at the hands of the Administratum's stupidity. She also takes in survivors such as us from broken regiments." Mikal explained. "This doesn't mean you're forgiven, lad! But…good work."

"Thank you sergeant." I said as Mikal walked back to the bar. I stood there for a moment, then reclined my head.

"God damn it…I just hit a fucking plot point."

The next day I, the squad, and somehow Jory and Tegan, were recruited by Lady Mira Cicero to serve aboard the Rouge Trader vessel _Forward Into Night._ And that is the first chapter of my life in Warhammer 40K closed. Now, was that little heroic act a little too convenient, a little too much like out of a fanfiction? Absolutely. Am I going to question it? Hell no, I know better than that. After that action, however, it didn't get easier. Instead, it got harder.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Author's Note: Okay, 40K community, hear me out please. I'm still getting my way into your MASSIVE neck of the woods, so I will frequently bumble about and screw up. Have mercy, PM me and tell me what's up, and I'll fix it, okay? Okay!**


	2. Major Entry 2

**Author's Note: Since someone asked me to update, here ya'll go!**

Journal Entry #0002A

 **After leaving Earned Respite, life became a mix of long boredom with blazing fast moments of excitement in space. Lady Mira Cicero was the "Guardsmen's Angel"; appearing wherever conflict was worst for the stalwart defenders of the Imperium. Her ship, a Luna-class cruiser, the** _ **Forward Into Night**_ **, would appear in system, B-line it for whatever planet needed her help, deliver supplies to the Guard and primed ordinance to its enemies, then leave. She would also take on shattered Imperial Guard units, typically under a hundred or so, and sign them onto her crew. A life on the vessel of a rouge trader had more perks then being a shattered regiment the Administratum was about to write off. In addition to the cruiser, she also held in service to her a pair of Sword-class frigates, the** _ **Honored Blade**_ **and the** _ **Righteous Edge**_ **, which would screen her approach to the planet. They were beaten and scared from service to Lady Cicero, but their crews were tough, loyal, and unafraid.**

 **Speaking of shattered Imperial Guard, the crew was on of the biggest mixed bag of nuts I've ever seen. Cadian, Elysian Drop Troops, Armageddon Steel Legion, Finreht Highlanders, hell, even Catachans. Apparently there had even been Mordians and Macabre Janissaries, but Lady Cicero had learned not to take them on once she had a squad of both on board at the same time. And they killed each other after a month of being together. Yeah, never mix religious nuts with different religious nuts. It doesn't end well.**

 **Speaking of religious nuts, there was one more important group onboard, the Imperial Inquisition, represented by the silent but ever watchful Inquisitor Adrian Brutus of the Ordo Militarum, a small order of the Inquisition dedicated to monitoring the Imperial Guard and Navy. He had been assigned to oversee the journeys of Lady Cicero, as there was always the chance a rouge trader would simply vanish into the void, hence his position. However, the Guardsmen's Angel did not shirk or abandon her duties, leaving the Inquisition satisfied.**

 **But I digress, the point is there were a lot of different ways of waging war onboard those three ships. As a result, Lady Cicero learned very quickly how to utilize the resources she had available when she went to do what she had been assigned to do; to go where no other had gone before her. Which leads us to Major Entry number two; the discovery of Holdfast, a lost human colony.**

I felt the jolt as the ship, _Forward Into Night_ , transitioned from the Warp to real space. I breathed a sigh of relief as we did so; I'd heard stories of Gellar field breaches, where demons of Chaos poured into ships and wiped out the crews. While I'd been in the 40K universe for a little over four years now, I didn't think I was mentally prepared to fight Chaos just yet. I stood from my cot and stretched, exhausted from sitting, doing nothing, and sheer boredom. The common folk of the Imperium glorified the lives of Rouge Traders, but after three years of serving one, I knew that it was mostly boredom, with spurts of excitement and action. Today was one such scene of action and excitement, as suddenly, alarm klaxons started to blare.

"All hands, this is Lady Cicero, contact has been made with an undocumented colony, I repeat contact has been made with an undocumented colony. Prepare for first contact." Lady Cicero's voice called calmly over the intercom. I immediately went for my locker, wrenching my rifle and flak-armor from it, all of which was in pristine condition. Whenever we made planetfall, we'd walk out a fine-looking bunch. As we all threw our gear on and made our weapons checks, a single figure strode in. A single figure that inspired respect, awe, hatred, and fear.

"It's a wonder you survived your regiments at all; you're the slowest bunch of Guardsmen in the Imperium!" Came the booming voice of Commissar von Braun. For some odd reason, probably a miracle, there had been no Commissars on Earned Respite. So when I met the Commissar for the first time, I had a rude awakening to the Imperial Cult and discipline as whole in the Imperium. Which, in the case of the Commissariat, consisted primarily of the liberal application of a Bolt Pistol and its corresponding ammo. "Move! The Emperor demands speed!"

" _The Emperor also demands logic and reason but looks like everyone ignored that!"_ I thought privately as I hustled out of the barracks. The vast majority of the Guardsmen in Lady Cicero' service wore Cadian-style uniforms, albeit with different unit patches, but overall we presented a united front. The exception to this were the company of Highlanders, who wore their own…interesting version of "armor". The hundred or so Highlanders were essentially shock troops; in addition to their standard issue lasgun, they also had CLAYMORES. Not as in anti-personnel mines, as in the massive-ass SWORDS almost TWICE their size, so I think they can get away with wearing kilts and calling it armor. They were also the most blunt, trustworthy, and funny people I'd ever met in my life; their antics many times just barely unworthy of a Bolt round from Commissar von Braun but endearing all the same. And right now, discovering a lost colony, I was comforted by the two hundred Highlanders with huge swords at my back.

"Move Private Russman, to your Valkyrie! Move, as the Emperor depended on it!" The Commissar bellowed. I doubled my pace, moving through the bustling halls of the ship to the hanger bays. I'd had a few rides in a Valkyrie gunship, all of which involved some anti-air idiot panicking and shooting a storm of flak at us. They actually damaged the wing of one our Valkyries, prompting the local Commissar and our own Commissar von Braun to both put bolt rounds in him. That was a good day, but I digress. As I dashed into the cavernous room that was the hanger bay, I saw it was bustling with activity, like the streets of New York City in rush hour (for those of you from 40K, that's a city on Holy Terra, from my universe). The in-atmospheric aircraft, Thunderbolts, Marauders, Lightning, and Avengers were being prepped to go, while our ship-to-ship starcraft shot from the hanger into the void. The Guardsmen aboard milled around their assigned Valkyries, waiting the order to go. Our job was to protect Lady Cicero and Inquisitor Brutus if need be, and to provide our lost human family with a pristine image of the Astra Militarum. However, it often took a few hours to get to that point; and those few hours were spent near the Valkyrie waiting. I found my squad at our Valkyrie, Sergeant Mikal looking over everyone's gear, Julia sitting impatiently, Galahad leaning against the ship, Chatterbox sharpening his bayonet, the two friends joking, and Willy sitting and listening to them.

"Well, look who it is!" Willy called as I approached. Mikal looked up at me, his eyes scanning over my armor and gear, looking for any blemishes, inaccuracies, or missing equipment, but he found none.

"Excited, Russman?" He asked.

"Nervous too." I answered, sitting down next to Julia. She _STILL_ didn't trust me; regarding me as Warpspawn at the worst of times, a traitor in waiting at the best of them, but we still worked well together when called upon. As I sat down, she eyed me warily and edged away ever so slightly, earning a roll of the eyes from the squad. In addition to myself and the aforementioned six others, our squad of twelve had four other members: Arthur Cadianson from…well, Cadia, Eldin of the Gothic sector, Xavier of Acreage, and Marcella from Flint. These were relatively new to our motley crew, having been brought aboard in the past year or so by Lady Cicero. They were solid people, but untested in combat with their new comrades; I was somewhat anxious to see how they would fare in a fight.

"Why? If they are our lost cousins, we should have nothing to fear." Arthur said. While he was a solid Guardsman, regimented and tough, he could be very naïve at times.

"We must always be prepared for Chaotic corruption, or for resistance against the Imperium." Julia replied.

"But why would they resist? Why would they not join us?" Arthur continued.

"Pride, probably, or fear of outsiders." Mikal suggested. "Humans can be confusing things, even to each other." Arthur didn't like the answer, but accepted it, nonetheless. The conversation proceeded thusly for about four hours as we all waited, debating what we would find on the planet below. Then the intercom crackled.

"Attention all hands, communications have been established with lost colony Holdfast. They are willing to receive a diplomatic party, but a show of Imperial might must be made. All Guard infantry units and air wings will deploy with the diplomatic party to the surface, I repeat, all Guard infantry units and air wings will deploy with the diplomatic party to the surface." Lady Cicero's voice commanded. My squad looked at each other, skepticism and surprise etched on our faces. Only Sergeant Mikal remained stoic.

"All right, enough lounging about, get in!" He barked, the force of his voice causing our legs to move in a hustle onto our Valkyrie. As we strapped ourselves into our seats, we felt the _Forward Into Night_ begin to rumble.

"Are we entering atmosphere?" Marcella asked, suddenly afraid.

"Not too far in; just close enough to deploy our atmospheric craft without them burning up on entry." Mikal assured. Marcella nodded, her fears somewhat quelled. She, I noted, seemed to be remarkably uncertain for a Guardswoman; always questioning her decisions, sometimes unable to make a choice. I feared for her sake that her indecision would not be her end. Arthur was naïve at the worst of times, but he was decisive, confident in his beliefs and abilities. Xavier was strong, tough, but quiet and I didn't blame him; Acreage was a Feudal-World, and going from there, to a battlefield with Orks, to a 5-kilometer _space-ship_ , had to take its toll on the mind. Eldin was not as quiet as Xavier, but he had good ideas that either went unheard or unspoken due to his shyer nature. The new four would have to grow up quick; the naïve, uncertain, and the shy did not last long in the 41st Millennium.

"Launch position achieved, all air wings launch, I repeat, all air wings launch!" The hanger control ordered. The Valkyrie's bay door closed, the engines roared to life, and the gunship lifted into the air. The air outside was filled with the roar of engines as the fighter wings took flight first, securing the surrounding airspace and establishing combat air patrols around the cruiser. Next came the bombers, flying near the fighters, ready to drown the ground below in explosive ordinance at a moment's notice. Finally, out came the Valkyries and Lady Cicero's shuttle, hurtling towards the planet below us. It was always nerve racking, flying towards the surface, never knowing when enemy fighters or anti-air defenses would open fire and hit your gunship. A knot formed in my stomach; one that always came whenever I flew in a gunship, threatening to force whatever I had eaten up and out of me. I kept breathing, deep breathes to calm myself and keep my stomach in check. I looked over to Sergeant Mikal who was checking over himself one last time. A perk of being an NCO in Lady Cicero's service was a weapon upgrade; a Hellgun for all squad leaders. The bulky backpack took up the space next to the sergeant, the rifle laying across his lap as he checked it over again and again.

"Hey sarge," I called, causing him to look up, "I think you missed a spot." Mikal frowned and stuck up his middle finger, causing the squad to laugh in spite of the anxiety that filled the bay. Julia rolled her eyes, probably noting the offense against the Uplifting Primer in her mind. Her goal was to ascend the ranks but myself and several others didn't see it; she was too rigid, too inflexible to change, unadaptable. Leadership required such things and knowing that all the tactical books in the Imperium and everything the Uplifting Primer taught, would not account for every single situation. But I digress.

The Valkyrie rattled as we hit turbulence in some clouds, rattling our teeth and our gear. My stomach lurched, but I kept it in check, preventing my last eaten meal from coming up and onto the floor. I leaned forward as far as I could in my straps, craning my neck for a glimpse of the planet we were to land on. I saw flashes of green and blue, but I couldn't make out the details. Mikal chuckled at my efforts before keying the intercom.

"What's it look like out there, pilot?" He asked.

"It's gorgeous, sarge," the pilot answered, "this place is a garden world; not too much urbanization out there." Xavier's ears pricked at that and he too craned his neck to look out. "We're coming up on the local starport; that's where Lady Cicero and her party will meet the locals."

"Last weapons check." Mikal said to us. We all proceeded to check our weapons one final time. My gut was churning mightily now, more out of fear of underperformance than dying. I was helping to represent the entire Imperium of Man, not an easy or small task to do.

"Thirty seconds to landing." Bayonet, sharpened and locked-in, magazine, loaded, weapon on safe, all good. Exactly as it needed to be, after what felt like a thousand checks and examinations. Two frag grenades, check, one krak grenade, check, four spare magazines, check, shovel, check, flak vest, on, helmet, on. Now, technically two grenades and mags was the limit, but I had long since learned to take more than what was needed when going into a potential fight. "Ten seconds." Everyone tensed as the seconds dragged into ages before the Valkyrie slowed, the landing gear lowered, the gunship landed, the ramp lowered, our restraints popped off, and twelve Imperial Guardsmen sped out into the sunlight. The same thing was happening in a staggered line all along the starport, Valkyries landing and disgorging their squads before taking to the skies, hovering overhead to provide fire support. The humans before us reminded me of a blend of Greek and Roman armor, but with a distinct futuristic look and with their own version of a lasgun pointed at us. In the forward center of our line, Lady Cicero's shuttle landed and out strode the Lady herself, followed by Inquisitor Brutus and Commissar von Braun. In the center of our opponent's line, a similar party stepped out, albeit larger and more civilian looking. Their guard, however, was clad in silver power armor and wielding large halberds.

" _Note to self: DO NOT fuck with them."_ I thought to myself as Lady Cicero and the opposing diplomatic party bowed to each other. For the next ten minutes, they exchanged words, speaking calmly, yet excitedly at the same time. During that short time, both sides relaxed slightly, not too sure if we were to keep aiming at each other, but also not foolish enough to take our eyes off of them. Then, one of the diplomatic party, a civilian in a green toga no less, turned to his forces and spoke in High Gothic (Latin). As he finished, they cheered lowered their weapons, and began walking towards us. The assembled Guardsmen, looked, somewhat panicked, too Lady Cicero.

"They welcome us to their home." She said simply. I lowered my lasgun, slinging it onto my back as the soldiers of the planet Holdfast approached, smiling and arms open wide.

 **According to some of Lady Cicero's veterans, that had been the smoothest greeting she had ever received as a Rouge Trader; several other worlds had just shot at her as she approached, or had straight sent DOOMSDAY weapons at her. So, a short standoff followed by hugs and smiles was a FANTASTIC way to start bringing a lost colony into Imperial Compliance…but. There's always a but.**

Entry #0002B

It was nighttime now. We had long since moved off the concrete of the starport and into the capital of Holdfast, Regia. The capital reflected its people; a futuristic blend of Greco-Roman buildings and culture, functional and practical, yet beautiful. I sorely hoped the Adeptus Administratum would allow Holdfast to keep its flare; beauty and culture like this was all too rare in the Imperium. It's people, however, would be given in tithes to the Departmento Munitorum and sent to fight for the Imperium on battlefields they've never heard of before and would likely never care for. But, in the 41st Millennium, every able-bodied human was needed to combat LITERALLY EVERYTHING IN THE GALAXY! The people of Holdfast were jumping headlong into the massive steaming pile of shit that was the Imperium of Man. Speaking of the people of Holdfast…

These people are among the most clean, well-mannered, and tactful people I have ever met across all the lifetimes I've had. These people knew how to insult you but make it sound like damn compliment…and I loved it! Their soldiers, however, were not as tactful and not as well-mannered, rather they were blunt and their language dirty, and we loved them. These were tough men and women, dedicated to their craft and to their homeworld, rigorously disciplined with a passion for their duty. These men would be a fine addition to the Imperial Guard.

Their lasguns were somewhat similar to the standard Imperial variant, but they were modified to fit the hastati of Holdfast; more akin to an SMG/carbine model and made to be used effectively with only one hand. The other hand of the hastati was holding a shield that covered nearly all of their body, very similar to those of the Roman Legionaries of Earth/Holy Terra, except this one was meant to deflect or stop most ballistic or energy fire. Essentially, I had found a 40K Roman Legion, and I was just fine with that. However, there was a downside to their world.

I stepped out from a guard post on one of Regia's walls; every city was walled to various extents, when I saw a figure standing off to the side, gazing over the wall at the surrounding landscape. I approached, thinking it to be another Guardsmen or a Hastati when I noticed the seals. The seals worn by Inquisitor Adrian Brutus. As I realized who I was walking towards, he turned his gaze to me.

"Apologies, Inquisitor!" I stammered out, coming to attention. "I thought you to be someone else."

"Relax, Guardsman," Brutus said quietly. I nodded and began to turn away to leave him. "Which are we to revile more, Guardsmen, the xenos or the heretic?" I stopped and thought a long moment before answering.

"The heretic, my lord; they would spread corruption against his Holiness the Emperor." I replied, using the best Emperor bothering tone I could muster.

"But what if the xenos presents the greater threat? What if they were a major roadblock in the plans of the Emperor?" The Inquisitor pressed further. "Yet what if in pursuing the xenos, we strengthen the heretic?" Now this sounded like an actual situation; a situation Lady Cicero had just landed us all in.

"With respect, Inquisitor, is this what we face here?" I asked. He said nothing for a moment.

"You will learn shortly." The Inquisitor said before turning away and walking into the night. Leaving me to wonder what in the fresh hell we had wandered into. Not a moment later, my vox-bead buzzed; the sergeant was calling me. I went back inside, grabbed my lasgun, and went to the main tower for this section of the wall. Sergeant Mikal and the rest of the squad had just settled in when I arrived, and I did not like the look the sergeant had on his face.

"So…we all know that our landing here went smoothly…turns out it went too smoothly." Mikal began. "Lady Cicero's discussions with the Senate of Holdfast have revealed two opponents to Imperial Compliance; a small faction of Greenskins…and a small faction of Khornite worshipers." Well…shit. "Lady Cicero has been authorized by the Senate and by Inquisitor Brutus to make strikes against both, the Chaos worshippers first then the Greenskins. However, we will be attacking Chaos without the backing of the Hastati." The squad was immediately up in arms.

"Why not?" I asked amid the clamor. Sergeant Mikal quieted us down before answering.

"They gave their word to the Chaos worshippers that they would be left alone unless provoked; any revocation of that vow would be license for subversive elements of Holdfast to rise up and overthrow the current senate. That is an issue we don't need in bringing this world into Compliance, so we go alone."

"Why not simply Lance strike it from orbit?" Julia asked.

"A Lance strike would most certainly show that we don't give a toss about their world; going in with lasgun and bayonet is the only way to do it." Galahad pointed out.

"Will we have air support?" I asked. It didn't matter if we had to go in, it mattered if we had to go in with or without air superiority."

"We will at least have that." Mikal said. "As for the whole plan, I do not know; we'll hear that later. For now, get some rest, we have a few days before we push out."

 **Remember how I said earlier I wasn't ready for Chaos? Yeah, clearly the God Emperor heard me and decided I needed a test. Thanks, Big E! Anyways, we eventually learned that the plan was essentially dump us off about two kilometers away, bombard the place from the air, then let us sweep up what was left. Suuureeeee, like an aerial bombardment would kill a DAEMON! Now, did they have a demon? LET'S FIND OUT SHALL WE?!**

Entry #0002C

What was I thinking in the belly of that Valkyrie as we flew towards the Chaos stronghold you ask? Simple really, just one word: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! I WAS ABOUT TO FIGHT THE MOST FUCKED UP THING IN THE 40K UNIVERSE! Thank the Emperor we weren't fighting worshippers of Slaneesh; the last thing I needed was to dodge dragon dilddo sized bullets and dragon dilddo swords! But still, Khornite worshipers! We were literally going to fight the servants of the god of WAR. Kratos doesn't have shit on Khorne; Kratos would be Khorne's bloody pet! AND I WAS ABOUT TO FIGHT HIS SERVANTS! WHY?! Orks on the planet; easy! They were relatively easy to understand and fight. Chaos worshippers? How about no, can we do no, please no! Chaos worshippers were fanatics; retreat was not an option, surrender was not even an after-thought, and defeat wasn't a concept they were willing to consider. In short, we were in for a SLOG of a battle.

And let me tell you, my sentiments were echoed in the body language of my squadmates; hunched over, fidgety, tense, and overall nervous and fearful. Arthur was in the corner praying to the God-Emperor, Marcella was shivering in her seat, Xavier was unreadable as per usual, Eldin's eyes were looking for an escape route, while the rest of the squad, including me, was just quiet and tense. Mikal was the only one who didn't show his fear, though I knew it was there, he just couldn't show it.

"Hey," he said suddenly, leaning forward in his seat, "wanna know the secret to fighting Chaos?" Everyone looked and leaned toward him. "It's simple really; fill them with enough las-rounds they whistle like wind chimes." I snorted, some of the other squad members laughed, while the others just rolled their eyes. "Seriously; Chaos is our worst enemy, but they are simply just another enemy. Keep your wits about you, your lasgun in your hands, your bayonet fixed, your faith in the Emperor unshakable, stay with me, and you'll come out fine."

"One minute until landing!" The pilot called.

"Weapons check!" Mikal barked. We all did so, with a couple of extra checks for me. In a sheath on my hip was a gladius, a short sword utilized by most of the Hastati and on my other hip was a las-pistol, albeit one that was meant to fire much faster. If you can make friends quickly and efficiently, you can get some pretty neat stuff. It also helped that the Holdfast Legionaries agreed with us; Chaos was not something to let fester for overlong, and they were tired of the potential threat to their borders.

A minute later and we rushed off the Valkyrie as our bombers thundered overhead, emptying their bellies of their payload onto the Chaos position. Said position was the highest point in a rocky field; a black, craggy fortress that stood against the surrounding green and gray of the area. While advancing uphill was an inadvisable task, we had the benefit of the rocky field and the large amount of cover that provided, so it wasn't a suicide mission. Lady Cicero was not one for suicide missions; hence the lack of Death Korps of Krieg on board her fleet, but I digress. Explosions rocked the black fortress ahead of us as anti-air fire filled the skies. Tracer rounds chased after our aircraft, missiles raced towards them, pilots dipped, dove, and dodged out of the way as they struggled through the storm of fire. We Guardsmen below were safe, until we were about five hundred meters away, and that's when the first mortar fire.

"INCOMING!" Someone shouted as we dove for cover. Now, I call Chaos fanatics, but fanaticism does not mean stupidity in all cases. In this case, whoever controlled the Khornite worshippers had the admittedly brilliant idea to load air-burst shells. What is an air-burst shell you ask? Essentially, take a frag grenade, load it into a mortar, and have it detonate over a target area. Not fun for infantry, not fun at all. And I was in the line of fire for them…yay. We dove for cover as the air-burst popped overhead, raining hot metal down upon us. Two Guardsmen caught in the open were eviscerated where they stood. Other mortars fired, forcing the entire Guard contingent into cover.

Now, I have yet to introduce our surprising competent platoon leader, a blue-blood noble by the name of Lieutenant Crassus. Crassus was born somewhere in the Segmentum Ultramar, where we don't know 'cause he won't tell us. What we do know is that the man should have been an Ultramarine; his tactical acumen, coupled with battlefield awareness Roboute Gulliman himself would appreciate (Also, I'm writing this at the time he has come back into, and THANK THE EMPEROR HE HAS!), and we were all surprised, but happy, that he was amongst Lady Cicero's company. And it was at this point that Crassus kicked into high gear; getting down on a knee behind a rock that curved over him and began barking orders and requests into his Vox. The poor sucker carrying the Vox was subjected to a barrage noise that a Noise Marine would wince at as Crassus went on. After a solid five minutes, in which our platoon, 6th Platoon, was ordered to halt, we watched as Marauder bomber screamed overhead at low altitude and dropped two bombs square in the center of the fortress ramparts. They collapsed, taking several gun emplacements and mortar nests with them.

"6TH PLATOON, ON YOUR FEET! FORWARD!" Crassus roared over at us. Mikal echoed the command, and we went tumbling forward, bounding over rocks and bodies, dodging gunfire from the ramparts, the usual in a fortress assault. While we had taken out _a section_ of the ramparts, there were still others staring down at us. Some elements on said sections turned their guns on 6th Platoon, slowing our progress as we dove for cover between sprints. Another wave of Marauder bombers passed overhead, allowing us to push forward to the base of the ruined wall. A Khornite cultist's upper body jutted from the rubble, weakly waving an axe.

"Blood for the Blood God…Blood for the Blood God…" He repeated weakly. I put a las-round in his head, a mercy killing, and then pushed on. Looking around, my gut dropped; 6th Platoon had become the Forlorn Hope. If you don't know that term, let me explain, as it is an old-Terran term. Essentially, when breaches were made in the old days of sieges, someone had to go through first. These were volunteer units dubbed Forlorn Hopes, and if you survived, there were great rewards. In the Imperium…it's just expected, hence the Death Korps of Krieg. Have I mentioned how crazy they are. Crap, rambling again.

6th Platoon clambered over the rubble that had been the rampart and lay low as we approached the crest of the rubble. One moron stood at the top of it and was promptly filled with las-rounds. Someone even got a throwing axe wedged in his head; nice shot! Lt. Crassus pulled a frag grenade from his belt, waved it at the rest of the platoon, indicating we should all follow suit. We did so, and almost a hundred frag grenades were hurled into the breach, detonating and sending screams into the sky.

"6TH PLATOON, FIX BAYONETS!" Crassus bellowed. Bayonets slithered out of sheathes, scrapped against barrels, and clicked into place. Lt. Crassus crawled to the top, peaked over, then began firing his lasgun bellow. The rest of us followed suit, and we saw that a few cultists remained, most having been shredded by our grenades. We shot the few that remained and then the inevitable command came. "CHARGE!" And so we went, screaming like banshees as we sped down the rubble, rifles held aloft. From the sides and above us, a few weapons fired, wounding a few as we went. Behind us, 4th Platoon came after, going to the left as we went right. My squad was just behind the first few, and we streamed into the fortress.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" A wave of cultists, armed with melee weapons rushed to meet us.

"OPEN FIRE!" Crassus yelled. I slid behind a barricade, propped my gun on top of it, and began pouring my rounds into the cultist wave. The rest of my fellow Guardsmen followed suit, pumping round after round into the wave before us, who came in a never-ending tide of blood, axes, and hate. It became a blur of shooting and reloading, shoot, reload, shoot, reload, shoot, click…no ammo. I looked around; most of the other Guardsmen were having the exact same problem, and that was trusting the air support to take care of things. Never send an airhead to do the grunt's job, and hence why we had fixed bayonets.

"FORM A LINE, FORM A LINE!" A sergeant cried, and we began to form a makeshift line, those with ammo were at the rear, while we poor bastards without any were up front, stabbing into the oncoming horde, which had thinned considerably by this point. Yet they still came, and so the monotony switched from shoot and reload to stab, pull, thrust, pull, stab, pull, thrust, pull. Blood soaked the ground we fought on, making it slick and slippery, bodies piled, one on top of the other, most dead, others still dying. It was a horrific scene, one that I had only seen the aftermath of in providing aid with Lady Cicero. I wanted to retch, to empty the rations I had before arriving here. I wanted to cry, weep for the friends I saw bleeding out from wounds, for my battle buddies whose eyes stared, empty gazes, into the sky, for the comrades who were calling for the Emperor's aid as the cultists brought their axes down onto their heads.

But here's my thing, sorrow doesn't usually do me a whole bunch of good, and neither does anger…but I was kinda mad now. Mad that the people of Holdfast were too cowardly to deal with their own problems, mad that the air support had failed to do their job, and mad that we had to go into this mess, all for "compliance" to an Imperium that would lose this world in some forgotten pile with in a century. So instead of crying, throwing up, or running away, I got mad. I shoved my bayonet into the throat of a cultist, kicked him off my blade, then thrust it into the chest of another. It got stuck as the cultist pulled away, leaving me without a weapon. I pulled the gladius from its sheath on my belt and got to hacking as the few cultists that remained crashed upon our impromptu line, breaking like a wave against a rock in the ocean. They fell just as quickly as a wave fades, leaving nothing but mounds of bodies, pools of blood, and heaps of gore. 6th Platoon, which had started at one hundred and ten Imperial Guardsmen, had been reduced to forty-eight, less than half our total fighting strength. Amazingly, my squad had been left whole, despite our presence in the forefront. Mikal was bloodied, as was the rest of the squad, with the exception of Marcella, who had remained in the rear, apparently, and taken potshots at the cultists. That didn't earn her any more friends, as the rest of the platoon glared at her specifically.

Lieutenant Crassus had fared about as well as his platoon; his right arm had an axe buried deep within it, and he was wincing as the platoon medic pulled it out. How the man didn't scream is BEYOND me, but he promptly passed out from the pain.

"The arm is gonna 'ave to come of'," The medic drawled out, "but I've nothin' ta stop the bleedin'." I was nearby, retrieving my lasgun when I heard this. I looked around and saw, thankfully, a pile of burning debris.

"We can cauterize it." I said so the medic would hear. I went to the fire, and after wiping the blood off the blade, stuck the gladius in for a few moments. When I pulled it out, the blade was glowing bright orange. I brought it over to the medic who took the burning blade and quickly chopped through the rest of the lieutenant's arm. Crassus, blessedly, remained unconscious as the medic pressed the blade against the exposed flesh of his arm, cauterizing the wound.

"Tha' oughta do it." The medic said, giving me back the sword as he wrapped Crassus' arm in bandages. He beckoned the Vox over and drawled into it. "This is the 6th Platoon medic to command, Lieutenant Crassus is missin' an arm, the platoon is below half strength, and we're low on ammo. Orders, over?" He listened for a moment before giving the speaker back to the Vox carrier. "We are to retrieve what we can and withdraw from the battlefield; 6th Platoon is combat-ineffective as of this moment." It was the sensible thing, really, but it still stung all the same. For the next half hour, we dug through the bodies of our comrades, saving who we could, before leaving the battlefield. Of the wounded, we were able to save around thirty, and when they recovered, we would be granted replacements and be battle ready again, but that didn't happen for two more months. As we trudged out of the Chaos fortress, we watched as the Highlanders marched in, taking our places. One of them looked at me and tossed me a flask as he went by. I popped the top and was immediately hit with the smell of strong alcohol, which hit Mikal who was next to me.

"You're sharing that," He ordered, "that is too strong for one Guardsman."

"Yes, sarge." I chuckled out. I looked back at the black fort behind us and wondered what had given them such strength. I was answered by a shuttle rocketing away from the fort, colored jet black.

"Emperor save us…that's the Black Legion." Mikal breathed. Chaos Space Marines had been inside the fortress the whole fucking time; if they had gotten out, there would be a 6th Platoon anymore. I watched the shuttle go, looked at the HUGE flask the Highlander had given me, and took a long swig. I fucking hate Chaos.


	3. Major Entry 3

Major Entry #3

QUICK NOTE: Someone complained about lack of action in the last chapter…WELL HERE YA GO! Also, thank you to Ace of Hate for checking in on this fic; it warms my heart that people look forward to this steaming pile of crap.

 **So remember when I said my platoon had been rendered combat ineffective? When I said that we technically couldn't fight anymore until we got replacements? Yeah, here's the thing; Orks don't give a damn about technicalities.**

Holdfast, Regia

Three days after the assault on the Chaos stronghold…

I leaned back on the hard stone of Regia's walls, taking in the setting sun. Sure, losing most of your platoon, people you'd been serving with for years, was sucky and all, but that was par for the course in 40K. Besides, I didn't have to assault the Ork stronghold, and after the Chaos stronghold, the Ork one was set to be a cakewalk. And the aforementioned Chaos location? Lance strike from orbit is eventually what did the job, despite our prior aversion to it. The government of Holdfast let the reigns loose on Lady Cicero and she had gone with her first plan, which was NOT to waste lives. Now, however, the Ork stronghold occupied an area of significance to the people of the planet; a mountain range where the first Ork WAAGH! had been held back by their legions. The legions today wouldn't have minded another Lance strike, but they also wanted some glory, hence the march out in two days.

I was not going to be apart of that; my job was to stay and be apart of a rear-guard action; to make a good impression on the people of Holdfast…as if we hadn't done that already? But, the good Lady Cicero had decreed and so here my ass sat, leaned up against a wall, taking in a gorgeous sun. The hastati of Holdfast had welcomed us back to the wall with a mixture of gratitude and shame; gratitude for helping them with a very tense situation, and shame for relying on us to take care of it. Now, however, they were chomping at the bit to go, to fight, to prove themselves to their new allies…more like masters, but we didn't tell them that.

As I basked in the rays of the setting sun, I blinked after taking too long a glance at the sun. Looking away, I could've sworn I saw something dart across the horizon, but my vision was too blurred to tell. Most of me wanted to relax, to kick back, to chilllll…but a small part of me told me to get to my feet and look. I think we know the part I tend to listen to; I stood and looked over the wall and my jaw proceeded to hit the planetary core of Holdfast as a massive roar ripped through the air, with one noise:

" _ **WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**_ For the first time in my life, I saw the full force of an Ork WAAGH! on the horizon. Let me tell you, seeing an absolute TSUNAMI of Orks, truks, and other assorted vehicles steaming towards you looking to tear you a new asshole, is NOT a fun experience. I can't remember if I shit my pants or not, but I'll tell you want I do remember doing: grabbing my lasgun, finding the nearest radio, and calling it in. As I finished the call, an artillery shell slammed into the tower I was in, taking a chunk out of the top down and rubble cascading towards me. I dove to one side, dodging a large stone, then crawled like crazy out of the tower. A second shell hit the tower and set the top portion tumbling to the streets of Regia before. The capital of Holdfast was located on the Greenskin Warning Zone (GWZ), as a show of fearlessness. As much as I saw the point of it, I REALLY didn't appreciate it at the moment. I wanted a vacation on a nice planet, a relaxing day doing nothing with a lovely lady or two and a beer, BUT NOOOOOOOO. I HAVE TO BE WITH A FUCKING-CRAZY ROUGE TRADER WHO WANTS TO GET ME KILLED! Those were the thoughts going through my brain as I began running, looking for someone to rally around. Two hastati, junior ranked, leapt from their seats with shields and lasguns in hand.

"Guardsman, how many are there?" One of them asked.

"Take a look!" I cried, shoving a finger at the oncoming WAAGH! They paled.

"What do we do?" The other asked.

"We rally and fight back! Follow me!" I said, not thinking. As another shell slammed into the wall, we three ran looking for a commander. We came to a cluster of Guardsmen and hastati rallied around…Lieutenant Crassus?! "Sir?" I asked in shock. The native Ultramar turned to me, revealing a thick, sturdy metal arm.

"Ah, Private Russman what is your status?" The LT asked without missing a beat.

"Uh, I've got my gear, dodged a falling tower, picked these two up, and I'm clueless as to what to do aside from fight." I replied.

"Then let me point you in the right direction; head to the next tower and help the gunnery crews there." Crassus ordered. I saluted and sprinted away, listening as another massive roar split the sky.

 _ **WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!**_

I made it to the tower to find three Heavy Bolters mounted and aimed at the approaching horde. A sergeant from 5th Platoon recognized me.

"Ah, Russman, just in time! We've got a spare Heavy Bolter for you!" He exclaimed, gesturing to one of the Bolters.

"To do what, sergeant?" I asked, walking inside.

"Why to shoot of course? Got a problem purging filthy fucking xenos?" The sergeant leaned into my face as he asked.

"Hell no, sergeant!" I answered, eagerly slinging my lasgun and taking the Heavy Bolter, situated off to the right of the tower. I had never shot one before, and I guessed a WAAGH! would be good practice. Two other Guardsmen came in and were assigned as my gunnery crew, a loader and a cooler. The WAAGH! came on, but they weren't in range yet, still several kilometers out. Their fighta-bombahs hurtled towards Regia, but Imperial and Holdfast fighter craft went out to meet them, and soon aircraft were plummeting towards the ground in flames and pieces. Our artillery was finally answering, big city guns booming as they sent shells of shrapnel and high explosives into the Ork WAAGH!, sending bodies sky high and plumes of smoke, earth, rock, blood, and gore.

I had never been apart of a pitched battle until Holdfast; I'd always been a quick in-and-out shock trooper. This was…different, more frightening…and yet more exciting. Maybe the followers of Khorne had a point…crap I just said that. Let's hope the Inquisition doesn't find this. I digress; long story short, Ork WAAGH! showed up, almost killed me, and now a big fight was happening. Let's get to it, shall we?

"All right you filthy sods, this is it! This is what all that Guardsman training you went through has prepared you for; a shitty day with the Orks! I have a question for you all: Will you falter?" The sergeant asked the fifty or so Guardsmen in the tower.

"NO!" We cried.

"Will you abandon your posts to the enemy?"

"NO!"

"Will you fail your Emperor in your duty?"

"NO!"

"THEN LET'S KILL THE BASTARDS!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" As we roared the Ork WAAGH! let out a massive howl, but in our tower, our cry was twice as loud. And then the order came, the one that satisfied my itchy trigger fingers.

"OPEN FIRE!" The sergeant bellowed. I jammed my fingers down on the triggers as the orchestra of war began; lasguns firing, heavy bolters booming, artillery exploding, aircraft screaming and roaring overhead, the constant stream of voices vying for attention, and the bellows of WAAGH! from the Orks. It was altogether intimidating, glorious, terrifying, exciting…and oddly, it felt just right; like coming home to your bed after a long work trip.

The WAAGH! came forward despite the torrential downpour of lasgun, bolter, and explosive ordinance being thrown at them. The Ork artillery, which I came to realize were just MASSIVE catapults, began to focus fire on the more heavily defended sections of the wall; whoever was Warboss knew how to wage a siege. From the Ork horde came lines of Boyz, twenty in total lining what looked like ladders.

"SHIFT FIRE TO THOSE BLOODY LADDER BEARERS!" The sergeant order and I did so, swinging the heavy gun across the advancing lines like a scythe through wheat at harvest. But for everyone I cut down, three more appeared, hell bent on reaching the base of the wall. As I switched to another ladder group, I noticed an Ork fighta-bombah headed directly toward the tower I was in. It was on fire and barely staying in the air, but it was going to hit the tower.

"Sergeant, look!" I cried, pointing at the aircraft. The sergeant paled.

"EVERYONE GRAB SOMETHING AND GET OUT OF THE TOWER! GOGOGO!" He cried. The gunnery crew and I together hoisted the heavy bolter out of the tower, as did the other crews. As the sergeant shoved another guardsman out of the tower, the Ork hit the tower. The tower shattered and collapsed in a hail of stone masonry, forcing everyone around to dive for the ground. I hit the stone, clutching the heavy bolter to me as I did so, and waited until the shaking stopped. I opened one eye and saw that I was still alive, as were most of the men around me, but the sergeant was dead; crushed under a chuck of stone. I grimaced at the scene as I was abruptly pulled to as someone grabbed me.

"What do we do?" A Guardsman asked me. I looked around; everyone was looking AT ME, FOR SOME REASON! WHY, DON'T KNOW, BUT THEY WERE! So I looked at the situation; we had lost the tower but we still had the bolters, their ammo, and amount of soldiers.

"Get the bolters back up and keep fighting until the Orks start overwhelming our section of wall." I said, coming up with it fast.

"But they'll kill us!" The Guardsman holding me screamed.

"Would you rather an Ork killed you or the Commissar?" I asked. When all else fails, use the threat of the Commissar, because it works. The Guardsman was cowed and let go of me as the rest of the Guardsmen, for some reason, listened to me and started setting up their guns. Someone grabbed mine, set up with the gun team I had been with, and began firing, as if I was their commander at this point. As I surveyed the confusing situation I was in, a group of hastati came up to me.

"What are your orders?" One of them asked. As I turned to gape, an Ork ladder appeared on the parapet.

"Get to work knocking those ladders down!" I said, and the hastati hustled away. A man took a round to the shoulder and was tossed backwards in a shower of blood and bone, screaming. "Where's the medic?" I cried, and a young man darted to the injured hastati, treating his wounds as best he could. The din of battle was in full force as a Lightning chased an Ork aircraft away from the walls, preventing it from strafing us. I watched as one of the massive Ork catapults launched a boulder into another tower. I realized I was just standing like a slack-jawed retard and went to the edge of the wall, poking my head over in preparation for my lasgun. Instead, what happened was I received a hard knock to the helmet as an Ork ladder slammed into the parapet, an Ork Boy just below it. As I got to a knee, the Ork and I made eye contact, and for a second, there was nothing…then…

"WAAAGHHHH!" It screamed as I raised my lasgun to its chest and held down the trigger. Angry red laser erupted from the weapon, killing the Ork and sending it tumbling down, knocking some of its friends off the ladder as it fell. I stood and using both hands, shoved the ladder back down whist it came. I felt the wall shudder as three boulders impacted, and, looking out over our section of the wall, I could tell that another volley would send us tumbling to the ground below. I looked around me; the Guardsmen and hastati alike were glancing at me, trying to figure out what I was thinking as they fought. Emperor damnit, I was a private! I looked down at my shoulder where the rank was….and it was gone; torn off at some point , leaving a hole in my sleeve No one knew I was a private. I looked around again; there were no sergeants or officers around. For all intents and purposes, I was in charge. So I made a choice, turning back to the other side of the wall. Behind the wall sat Regia's civilian housing, which was roughly one hundred and fifty yards away from the wall itself, with various small streets and alleyways providing entry further into the city.

"Start pulling off the wall!" I called. "One more volley like that and we're all going to be mortar for the next wall!"

"Where do we go?" Someone asked.

"Get to the houses, start kicking in doors, smashing out windows, give me a defensive position!" I answered. "Heavy bolters first, then everyone else!" The heavy bolters and their crews picked up and moved off the wall as the rest of us held the line. Ladder upon ladder slammed into the wall, Orks tried to ascend, but each time the large shields of the hastati and their short barreled lasguns forced them back down. I looked down the backside of the wall, saw that the crews were almost to the houses. I looked back out at the WAAGH! and saw the catapults about to fire. "EVERYONE GET OFF THE WALL!" I called. As one, we all broke for the nearest stairway down, leapt down every set, and sprinted out into the open. As we made it out, the wall shuddered as a boulder impacted, and massive cracks bulged outward.

"MOVE, MOVE!" Someone screamed as another boulder slammed into the wall, and it began to crumble. I was seventy yards across when the final one made impact; the wall crumbled, massive bits of stone masonry flying outward as a roar came up from the WAAGH! a man next to me was hit by a long shard of stone, falling to the ground with a vacant look in his eyes.

"KEEP GOING!" I called as more hastati and Guardsmen came and dove into houses, streets, and alleys, moving things to use as cover or weapon props. The three heavy bolters were set up, all in the second or third stories of houses and pointing at the breach in the wall. Another roar of WAAAGH! Shook the walls as Orks began to clamber over the rubble in small groups. "Bolters, hold fire! Wait for the larger groups!" I called, fearing the gunners would waste ammo on insignificant targets. They obliged me as the Guardsmen began picking the Orks off with precise lasgun fire, easily catching the exposed Greenskins off guard. The sound of booted feet in the alleyways behind me caught my attention, and upon turning around, I saw roughly fifty hastati barreling towards us.

"Who's in charge here?" The lead one cried.

"Him!" Someone answered, pointing at me.

" _Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck!"_ I was swearing in my brain as they approached.

"Where are we needed?" The leader asked. Thinking quickly, I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Form up in the alleyways and streets; interlock shields and wait for the Greenskins to close before firing!" I said. The hastati smiled and nodded approvingly.

"Tonight, the bonfires of our victory shall burn brighter than the stars!" He cried as he led his men forward.

" _WHAT?! THAT WAS ACCEPTABLE?!"_ I screamed mentally as _another_ group came, this time intermixed with some Guardsmen. And fucking Commissar Von fucking Braun. Thank the Emperor on His Throne I was saved.

"Private Russman!" He bellowed, headed straight for me. At the mention of my rank, the soldiers around me eyed me suspiciously. "Who's in charge here?"

"Uhhhhhh….I've been in charge, sir." I said meekly. The Commissar blinked rapidly, looked around, then grinned.

"HA! A PRIVATE HAS DONE BETTER AT COMMAND THAN MOST LIEUTENANTS I'VE SEEN IN THEIR FIRST BATTLE! HAHAHAHAHA!" He cackled. The Guardsmen were scared shitless; typically, when this man laughed, it was followed by the sharp bark of a bolt pistol, but none followed. Instead, he continued to laugh, a deep, booming sound. "Well Russman, I will take your command, and well done!" He said, patting me on the back and walking forward into the line, bellowing commands as he went. I stood, shell-shocked, in the middle of the street, wondering what the actual fuck had just happened. My thoughts were interrupted by another resounding WAAAAGH! As the Orks began to press our breach. No longer in command, I checked the charge on my lasgun, and got to work. The Orks were coming in larger groups now and the heavy bolters were opening fire as the Commissar was screaming and directing the gunfire. While the man was the master of discipline amongst our Guard unit, Commissar Von Braun was the conductor of an orchestra of carnage and war; the waving of his chainsword and bolt pistol his batons, his voice setting the deep and resounding tempo of war, the bolters and lasguns the instruments, the Guardsmen and hastati his musicians.

As more Orks came, so did more reinforcements for us; the Highlander company had come to our aid and soon we had full coverage of the breach as hundreds or Orks attempted to come through. A Marauder bomber dove and dropped bombs behind the breach, slowing the waves of Orks for a moment. Then, there was another massive roar.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!" And from over the crumbling stone of the breach came the Ork Warboss; clad in red armor with black and white checkered stripes, two Power Klaws for hands, and chain guns just above them. His lower jaw was encased in a metal guard, he had a power pack that was producing a cloud of angry black smoke above his head, and he was angry.

"WHY IZ IT TAKIN' SO LONG? THEY'ZE JUST HUMIES!" He roared, and the WAAGH! lurched forward towards our line, the Warboss at the head of the horde. Commissar Von Braun walked straight into the horde, bolt pistol raised at the Warboss, chainsword whirring in his right hand. And I swear to this day I still don't know what possessed me to say and do what happened. I looked once more to the Guardsmen next to me.

"Hey boys," I said, "that Warboss is talking an awful amount of shit for someone in bayonet range!" The Guardsmen laughed and we fixed bayonets, changed charge packs, and assaulted the enemy. As I vaulted my cover, I roared one phrase: "FOR THE EMPEROR!"

" **FOR THE EMPERORRRRRRR!"** Came the response as the Guardsmen of our little line took up the cry, fixing bayonets and charging. The Ork line took a double take; humies weren't supposed to charge, they were supposed to sit and die! But we were the soldiers of the Imperium and death was something we took on our feet or behind cover, fighting our asses off. The hastati behind us formed up in their lines quickly, shields up, and tramped towards the horde, their short lasguns firing angry red beams of light. I ran, bayonet lowered, straight at the Warboss; Commissar Von Braun had it preoccupied with his chainsword, annoying the big Ork with his constant swings and dodges. As I barreled forward, an Ork came in my way, grinning and _opening his mouth_ _to TAKE A BITE OUT OF ME!_ I lowered my body as the teeth chomped forward and stabbed my bayonet into his chest and pulled the trigger. The lasgun spat laser fire into his chest as he screamed and died. I kicked him off and looked for the Warboss, who swept the legs out from under the Commissar. Three Guardsmen nearby looked to me for guidance, three who had been with me on the wall. I motioned with my arm and we all ran for the Warboss, firing our lasguns as we went.

"OI, STOP SHOOTIN' ME! IZ HUNGRY FOR HUMIE!" The Warboss cried angrily. We got close and broke off, each of us stabbing into exposed flesh and emptying our magazines into the massive Ork. He roared and went down on one knee as the Commissar stood, chainsword in hand, stepped to one side of the Warboss's head, and brought the sword down. The Warboss screamed in pain, which turned to gurgling as the chainsword cut through his neck and throat like a hot knife through butter, spraying blood and bone everywhere. The head fell with a thud, but the WAAGH kept fighting. I looked around and found exactly what I needed; a long wooden pole with a sharp end. I grabbed it and shoved the sharp end into the exposed throat of the Warboss and held it high. Commissar Von Braun began to cackle once more.

"TAKE THAT TO THE WALL, BOY! SHOW THESE XENOS THAT THEY CANNOT STAND!" He roared, raised his bolt pistol and began to clear a path. Nearby Guardsmen were railed to me as I ran, pole held high, blood from the Warboss's head dripping down in streams onto me, but I ran on, onto the breach, up the cobbled stone, against the tide of Orks coming down as lasfire surged from behind me and bolter fire cut down swaths of Orks. I got to the top of the breach and was met by three big, mean Orks. Their shootas raised, they noted the pole I held in my hands and followed it to the top.

"Datz…datz da Warboss." One of them said. Orks around them took notice, and many stared in fear at the decapitated head of their Warboss. Then, they broke and ran; screaming that their Warboss was dead, hollering for help as the focal point of their WAAGH! was gone. As they ran down, the rest of the WAAGH! splinted and fractured and the horde began to turn away. Guardsmen and hastati ran up alongside me and began to cheer as I stuck the pole into the stone of the wall. I looked to the sky and saw that it was dark; the moon was rising high in the sky and the stars seemed very bright. As the adrenaline left me, my legs began to shut down from exhaustion. I slumped to my knees as the Commissar approached and grabbed me.

"You, Private Ald Russman, have a bright future in the Guard." He said as I faded into unconsciousness. The darkness was blissful, and the sleep was more than welcome.

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 **Sooooo yeah, I was the Hero of Holdfast, whoopie. That's the title I was given THE MOMENT I came to in Regia's best hospital; ceremony and all. Commissar Von Braun, the Inquisitor, and Lady Cicero were there, proud as peacocks that one of their Guardsmen had made such an impression on the world. I've been back since the planet became part of the Imperium and there's a public area where we held the line with a fucking** _ **statue**_ **of ME! I DIDN'T WANT THAT; I DON'T LIKE GENERAL PUBLIC LEVELS OF ATTENTION! But, it wasn't all bad, I was elevated to lower noble status on the planet and I own property there, so I have a decent flow of cash coming in. But, there was one more thing that happened after we left Holdfast, and it was kinda important…**

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#2

Day of Departure

I was being summoned to the Captain's quarters…oh sweet Emperor help me now. From the barracks to the Captain's quarters was a half hour walk, long enough to think about what was to come. Was I in trouble somehow, did the Commissar and the Inquisitor decide that I was a heretic, what?! But, despite my fears, I went anyway through the dark corridors of the _Forward Into Night_. When I arrived, the Commissar and Lady Cicero were both awaiting me.

"Ah, Guardsman, come in, we have something to discuss." The Lady Cicero said as my gut dropped through the floor and into the endless void of space. I closed the door behind me as the Commissar took a step to the side of a desk, gesturing as he did so.

"Have a look." He said, and I did so. Upon reading several of the sheets, I realized they were after action reports from both Holdfast and our own Guardsmen…. about me.

"We looked into your actions during the battle of Regia, and the results of our investigation were most satisfactory." Lady Cicero said.

"Ma'am, define 'satisfactory'." I said, nervously. From behind her back, Lady Cicero brought out a black box. No, she did not ask to marry me, shut the fuck up about that. The box contained a single gold bar that could be pinned on a uniform…the bar of a second lieutenant in the Emperor's Imperial Guard.

"Based upon your performance, we have deemed you fit to promote you to the rank of second lieutenant." Lady Cicero said. My head was spinning; I WAS A PRIVATE FOR EMPEROR'S SAKE. If you got promoted from the ranks, it goes sergeant THEN 2nd Lieutenant, not private! I skipped another ten years of promotions! "It would not be immediate of course; you would be required to take on one to three years of study for your duties. In the meantime, however, you would serve as a 'junior tactical officer' alongside Lieutenant Crassus, learning from him in addition to your studies."

"Wh…wh…why me?" I stammered out. "Why-why not Sergeant Mikal or some other sergeant that's been in longer than I have?"

"There's an old Terran saying, private, 'You can't teach an old dog new tricks'," Commissar Von Braun said, "we appreciate the efforts of our noncommissioned men and women, but they are too stuck in their ways to be effective officers."

"Many a sergeant would've stayed on that wall until the last minute, while you saw the oncoming problem and withdrew before serious losses could be incurred." Lady Cicero said. "That is what I look for in officers; the willingness to accept temporary defeat in order to win a later battle." I read through some of the after-action reports and saw that the hastati and Guardsmen alike had glowing opinions of me. I looked again at the bar, then to Lady Cicero. "Your choice."

" _Oh fuck me sideways…I've hit ANOTHER plot point."_ I thought to myself as I reached for the bar. Second Lieutenant Russman has a nice ring to it, to be entirely honest.


	4. Letter From A Fan

**Author's Note: erttheking, if you read this, you got me into 40K, and this is the best way I think to honor that. I APOLOGIZE IF THIS PISSES YOU OFF!**

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To the author of _Avoiding Stupid Deaths in the 41_ _st_ _Millennium_ ,

Hello, my name is Private Ald Russman, formerly of the planet of Freeport, now a member of the Rouge Trader Lady Cicero's entourage, and I'm an invested fan in your work. As entertaining as the Uplifting Primer is, your notes have kept me alive more than anything as I've been a member of the Guard. I don't know if this letter will find you at all, but I thought I might send in a short little list of things I've seen in the few years I've been around. Whether or not it gets put in the book, up to you…if this reaches you at all. Anyways, keep up the good work!

Thank you for your time,

Sincerely,

Private Ald Russman

P.S: Within this package is a bottle of wine from the planet of Holdfast; a new planet with a very "refined" people. Dunno if you like wine, but I thought the family might enjoy it. If you wanna know, I'll send the related journal entry. You think you're the only one writing shit down?

1\. Trigger discipline, AND YES, the author has already covered it; I know this seems like a "gimme", but you would be surprised at the shit that happens when you don't. For example, my job is to help my boss deliver supplies to dangerous fronts, get in fast, grab surviving members of essentially destroyed regiments, and book it out of the system. I won't say who my boss is, but if you know, you know. Anyways, on a couple of runs we've be shot at by friendly AA fire. Most of the time the CO will chew your ass out and rip you a new one, which means you REALLY shouldn't hit your friendlies. One time, that happened; a Valkyrie can carry about sixteen people, crew and passengers included…I'll give you a guess as to how many bolt rounds my Commissar and their Commissar put into the crew who hit one of us. So, check your targets and keep your itchy little trigger finger out of the trigger well unless it's an enemy. If it's a bad guy, light them the fuck up.

2\. Respect the ship. Most of my time in the Guard has been spent in service to someone who owns a decent sized starship, so I treasure my time on the ground. I have learned to respect the great beast of a ship I live on with one principle: Treat it like your lasgun. I mean think about it, a starship is basically one MASSIVE piece of equipment, so you think one would treat it like that, right? Well apparently not; one dude in the barracks thought it was a good idea to shove all of his junk and contraband into one particular power junction. Firstly, so long as the Commissar doesn't see it and it's not heretical or Chaos related, no one will rat you out. Secondly, buddy up with a guy in maintenance to see where the best to hide your shit. Because the power junction was connected to our local air filters and when people start passing out from bad air, guess where they look, and guess what they do when they find your stuff? In this case, we airlocked him, with our boss's and Commissar's approval.

3\. Protect the LT and the Vox caster. Some people really don't understand how vital these people are to the course of a fight. Most new platoon leaders are a either dumb, stuck-up, have their head up their ass, or, in rarer cases, willing and ready to learn. They also have access to the single most deadly weapon in the entire platoon; the vox to call in hellstorms of indirect fire on the enemy. Be it artillery, orbital fire, air support, you name it, the platoon leader can and should be calling in that fire. Now, my platoon leader is a guy from the planet of Ultramar…yeah, the home of the Ultramarines and a Primarch. By our estimate, something bad must have happened, because the man would fit better in the Ultramarines than with us mere Guardsmen, but I digress.

In one situation, my platoon was called to help evac a group of trapped Guardsmen, twenty-three members of the Armageddon Steel Legion whose regiment was gone, and they were the last ones. We ended up getting up front, somehow, and my PL and Vox Caster were busy behind cover calling in all manners of explosive death on the Orks in front of us. The team designated to stay with them just…fucked off. We didn't know where they went until after the skirmish, when they popped up from a hole in the ground that led to a bunker. Turns out, they had been looting while PL and Vox Caster had been battling off a squad of Orks, and they only made it because one of the twenty-three found a rocket launcher and blew them to kingdom come. When we found the missing team, we so thoroughly enjoyed splitting their loot and what they had missed in the bunker amongst ourselves. Oh, the team? Buried alive in the same bunker they looted…yeah, our PL is one for devious and twisted punishments if the crime is worthy of it.

4\. Don't TRY to be a hero. Here's the thing about heroic moments; they happen naturally. It's how I got to work for my boss in the first place and the second time I had a big one it got me a serious promotion…yeah if you see another of these it'll be as a second lieutenant, but I digress. Don't try to force a heroic moment, let it come to you. I cannot tell you how many times I've seen Guardsmen on war-torn worlds try to be heroes by conducting daring raids outside the chain of command, dramatic flanking maneuvers, and bold charges in the face of death…. just, no. Heroics come about naturally; I helped save someone's cargo and I ended up helping to save a city, those were my two. I didn't force either to happen, they just fell into my lap and I made the most out of them. If you force a heroic event, chances are more like than not that you die some horrible death at the hands of an Ork Nob who thinks you have a cool hat or a Dark Eldar who wants to make you scream nonstop for a whole week. So just let crap happen to you, don't force it.

5\. Don't help the wannabe heroes. Going off the last one, if you see someone trying desperately to be a hero, just leave them be. Don't get caught in their blast zone A. Because you're more likely to suffer the same fate as Wannabe Hero and B. Even if you do survive and Wannabe becomes a hero, guess who gets all the credit? Not you, that's who. And if you're pissed off that they got all the credit, don't kill them. You just look like a bitch.

6\. Don't do solo bayonet charges. Pretty self-explanatory, but I wouldn't be sending these in if everyone understood the concepts. Here's the thing about bayonet charges; a massive charge against a tired foe who's been beaten to hell and back is highly effective for two reasons; it's demoralizing and typically the tired foe runs away from the thousands of people with sharp pointy things. Now, take the same thing but with one person, what's gonna happen. You'll give the enemy a laugh, minus one Guardsmen, and a mini-morale boost that could lead to other things. The reason I was a hero my second go around is because I enlisted help and we skewered an Ork Warboss with twenty bayonets before our Commissar took his head off. I put said head on a pike, took it to where the Orks could see it, and they all ran, but I only got that done because I had help! The morons that solo charge are, what are you thinking? That your amazing act of stupidity will convince others to follow? NO, WE WON'T AND YOU WILL DIE AND WE WILL LAUGH AND DIVIDE UP YOUR SHIT!

7\. Eat your fucking rations (#98). Again, common sense, but this is for those who have none. The average human body needs food and water to function and sustain itself properly and if it is lacking those components, the body tends to break down in order to conserve itself. How this is not common knowledge boggles my mind, but I've been to planets where Guardsmen are starving because they won't eat their Emperor-forsaken rations! Look, I get it, the Administratum doesn't really go for the good stuff for its Guardsmen, but food is bloody food! Your body needs it, eat it, and live! I swear if I have to land on another planet and pour ration paste down another squad's throat because they refuse to eat, I may just shove a Melta Charge down one of their throats instead of paste. See how ungrateful they are then.

8\. Number 28 in the original book is correct! My boss is not a dashing rouge, they're a hardass diplomat with balls of adamantium. Now, not all traders are like my boss; they're really one of a kind. As I previously stated, if you've heard of my boss you know to whom I refer, but we've come into contact with Rouge Traders who are utter bitches, rouges, scammers, and soldiers, but very few dashing rouges. Moral of the story, don't come on here for fame and fortune, you'll end up being bored most of the time. Speaking of boredom…

9\. Don't do crazy shit for entertainment. I'm used to long stretches of time where not a damn thing happens in my life outside of the routine, however, that doesn't mean I resort to utterly insane shit. I used to know this one guy who got aboard the ship around the same time that I did, and he could not keep himself in check. This guy took the term "prankster" wayyyyyyyy too far, pulling grand schemes all across the ship that were dangerously close to heretical, dangerous, and life threatening. He did all of this in the name of staving off boredom…NO! THERE ARE BETTER WAYS TO KEEP YOURSELF ENTERTAINED THAN FAKING A GELLAR FIELD DISRUPTION! That last prank get himself airlocked…we like tossing people into the void a lot. Keep yourself entertained with the little things, or if you can't entertain yourself keep yourself busy. I like to do challenge people to random crap; water chugging competition, who can do the most pushups, limited games of hide and seek, things of that nature. So basically, stay tame, stay sane.

10\. Lust kills. See there's a difference between when a guy says he loves you and when he says he _loves_ you. Love is mutual; when you feel a magnetic pull to someone else who matches your personality and you match theirs. Lust, plainly put, is a pure and simple desire to bone each other brainless. Nothing wrong with that; in the fucked-up galaxy we live in, we need that kind of stress relief. However, lust can often be a one-way street, mainly from the guys, women take sex way more seriously than most men. Again, nothing wrong with that, just move on from the matter and forget about it. DO NOT, and I say this again, DO NOT GO OUT OF YOUR WAY TO GET YOUR WAY WITH SOMEONE ELSE!

I have this one squad-mate, fairly attractive woman, but she has a stick up her ass so far that the Inquisition would be impressed, and sometimes she draws attention from the opposite sex, and hell, even the same sex on a few planets. There was one sergeant who recognized her sheer respect for the chain of command and began to abuse that; not my squad leader, but a guy from another platoon. It took two months before he cornered her, and the only reason it didn't go further than that was because the rest of our squad and I were head-hunting for that son of a bitch. The Commissar took one look at the piece of shit that we had brought before him, put a bolt round through the crotch, and let him bleed out on the barracks floor before everyone present. Yeah, keep it in your pants if it's not wanted.


End file.
